And then there’s the Holy Grail of female betrayal: the woman who sleeps with your man, who steals him away. She haunts my dreams. The mere thought of her unsettles me. To my mind, her hair seems bouncier, her boobs more pert, her skin silkier, her allure more commanding. And I see her everywhere.
She feeds my insecurity because something in her has the ability to command the attention of the man I want and bang! it’s stilettos at dawn, spiked heels, ripped hair, torn egos and eyes scratched out … in the proverbial sense at least. I’ve never had a physical fight with a woman in my life. That said, there’s one or two from the past that I wouldn’t mind beating to a pulp ;) Is that wrong?
In my dreams I smoke. Last night I dreamt that I was sitting at a large kitchen table; I had a smoke in one hand, a penknife in the other. I was carving the letter u into the wood. The letter f was already there. I was pissed off. I always smoke when I am pissed off.
Yesterday I sat in a beautiful hotel. The sun shone but I sat in the shade with a light breeze on my back to keep me cool. Opposite me sat the most gorgeous couple. He had a blonde beard and wore a white linen shirt.
Peep-toe high heels graced her feet; a black pencil skirt and silk red blouse clung to her body. Her hair was scooped back in a slick ponytail. She looked impeccable. She smoked continuously.
She reminded me of a latter day factory girl from Seville; the legendary cigarreras who are the reason that cigarette smoking is considered so God damn sexy in women today. They were the inspiration for the feisty Carmen, a Spanish gypsy girl who wore her clothes loose, her morals looser and wouldn’t be caught dead without a smoke hanging from her juicy lips.